Maroon to White
by WittyPiglet
Summary: A group of boys' darkest secrets are being revealed by an anonymous blogger only known as the"Reavealer". Which boys you may ask? I'm not saying, you'll have to read to find out.
1. The Beginning

**Chapter 1**  
 _ **The Beginning**_

It started out as simple things being revealed. Who slept with who. Who cheated on who. Who did what and when and where. That's all the Revealer did usually.

Who's the Revealer you may ask?

The Revealer is a blogger who takes great pleasure in revealing embarrassing and/or heinous facts about their fellow South Park High School students...Usually the boys though. They attack the girls once in a blue moon. Everyone was following the blogger, either to see if they were the newest victim or to see who was the Revealer's prey. It was always a juicy bit of gossip that lasted about a week before dying out when a new story came in.

The blogs weren't too bad.

Well...Not usually.

But now...now they were getting into some heavy shit.

First victim: Craig Tucker.


	2. Maroon

**Chapter 2**  
 _ **Maroon**_

Not a word was spoken all threw the halls of South Park High as each student took out their beeping phones simultaneously, eager to see the new story or hesitant about the fact that it might be about them. Silent gasps and shocked looks crossed the faces of the majority of the loitering teenagers. None so looked more shocked then Craig Tucker's close group of friends: Tweek Tweak, Clyde Donovan and Token Black. Craig Tucker himself had the blankest look on his face as he stared down at his phone, ignoring the looks of horror/sympathy/shock that were sent his way from every direction.

 _Craig Tucker_  
 _The unshakable boy_  
 _Or is he?_

Craig drew in a sharp breathe.

 _A better name for him is the town_  
 _emo. Or would cutter suffice?_

Craig started hyperventilating.

 _That's right._  
 _Your emotionless bad boy is nothing more_  
 _than an emo freak. Craig Tucker does_  
 _anything he can to injure himself on the daily._

Craig ignored his friends as the tried to talk to him.

 _Why, I bet if you get him out of his shirt,_  
 _then you'll see all the RECENT injuries_  
 _our dear Craig has caused himself._

A picture appeared then and Craig's eyes widened. It was a picture of him in the boy's locker room changing from his long-sleeved gym shirt into his hoodie. Craig always waits till the locker room is empty before changing. That way no one has to see him. See what he does. The picture was obviously taken from inside a locker and showed everything above his belt line just about. You could see the cuts on his wrists and torso. The burn marks, the bruises, the scratches. You could see them all...The picture was dated for just two days ago and so many of those cuts looked brand new.

 _I wonder what causes him to feel the need to_  
 _hurt himself so. Don't you? Maybe it's_  
 _because he hates himself, maybe_  
 _because he feels empty, or maybe because_  
 _he's in love with someone who doesn't_  
 _love him back._  
 _Looks like we'll never know._

A video was attached this time and Craig really wished that no one had clicked play. The video was filmed through his blinds, but you could see clear enough. It was him in his bedroom, facing the window and repeatedly hitting his bloody crimson wrist off of his nightstand. A bloody switchblade was seen just on the corner of the bed and if you looked close you could see the slits where the buckets of blood were coning from. You couldn't see Craig's face though as his bangs hid it when he bowed his head like that. Craig soon stopped abusing his shredded wrists and began hitting his own head, pulling at his hair as he tried to muffle his screams of frustration and anger. The video stopped when he finally fell to his bed, unconscious. The video was dated for yesterday.

Craig felt numb.

 _That doesn't seem very in control, as_  
 _normal for our little Craigy._  
 _Now, does it?_

Craig was gone. He began running and running past all the shocked and disturbed students and out the school gates. He didn't stop, he couldn't stop. He could hear his friends calling his name as he ran, but he didn't care. He ran until the stitch in his side became to much and he collapsed to the ground in clear exhaustion, gasping for breathe and finding it hard to feel his lungs. He was laying on his back in the cold snow, staring up at the sky as more of the frozen liquid kept falling. His wrists throbbed at the memory of yesterday. They had filmed him while he was in the safety and privacy of his own room. How..? How...? How...?!

He felt tears sting his eyes and cursed himself for seeming so weak. Now everyone knew how unstable he was. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! FUCK! A sob escaped his lips and he covered his eyes, rubbing furiously at them as if that would stop the flood and seal the gates. He bit his lip to muffle his sobs till it started to bleed. How could the Revealer tell everyone something so...so PERSONAL! A video and picture is just icing on the cake. Craig bets Cartman and probably even Marsh are having a field day. He bets they can't wait till they see him and rub it in.

"Cra-ACK-Craig?" A timid voice appeared from no where. Craig swore and tried harder to stop the tears.

"Hey dude." Another voice, god damnit.

"You okay?" A third...Why did they have to follow him...?

"I-I'm*hic* f-fine..." His voice trembled and he slowly sat up, only now realizing how cold he was. His friends knelt next to him and he stared down at his lap. He couldn't face them like this, why couldn't they have left it be. He wanted to be alone to wallow in his own misery.

He didn't expect the three sets of arms wrapping around him. Clyde...Token...and Tweek. They were his best friends and Craig realized with a start that they weren't leaving him. They weren't disgusted or repulsed by what he does. They were letting him know in that one simple gesture that they would always stand by him and they would love him no matter what. Craig felt another sob wrench past his lips and he began full on sobbing with his head on Clyde's shoulder while Tweek ran his hand through his hair (he hadn't even realized he lost his hat) and Token whispered calming words into his ears. No, they weren't his best friends. They were his family.

Craig found that at that moment he didn't care about Revealer's post on his issues. He just hoped that they didn't go crazy on another person. Slowly he calmed down and Clyde helped him to his feet as the others stood.

"Let's get you home man."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Revealer smirks from where they stand in the school halls, among shocked students watching as the usually stoic Craig Tucker began running out of the school.

Next victim: Trent Boyett.


	3. Red

**Chapter 3**  
 _ **Red**_

Trent Boyett. The resident bad boy. Look at him wrong and you get a faceful of fist. He couldn't possible be hiding anything bad. Right? He thought no one would figure it out but boy he was wrong. You see there was a reason he got out of juvie so early this time.

A chorus of beeping filled the air and people began opening up their phones. Who could Revealer have posted about this week? Was it not bad enough what they did to Craig? He wouldn't come back to school for the rest of the week and when he did finally come back he was wearing a pair of pajamas pants and an old red racer t-shirt under his open coat. He had his stoic personality back in place and he ignored the looks of pity and sympathy he got from the others. Trent had to give him props for acting so indifferent after what happened. He was actually impressed. Tucker's close friends walked so close to him as if they were trying to shield him. And when Cartman made a snide comment as they passed...Oooh boy. Trent, nor anyone else, had ever seen Clyde Donovan, Token Black, or Tweek Tweak get so mad. Least to say, Cartman had to go home that day and the three boys got four days of detention.

Trent's blood ran cold just by the first word.

 _Rape._

Unpleasant memories came back to the forefront of Trent's mind.

 _The act of unlawful sexual activity_  
 _and usually sexual intercourse carried_  
 _out forcibly or under threat of injury_  
 _against the will usually of a female_  
 _or with a person who is beneath a certain_  
 _age or incapable of valid consent._

This couldn't be about him. It just couldn't. How would the Revealer even find out?! It's impossible! It had to be about someone else...It just had to be...

 _Trent Boyett._  
 _Our own terrifying ex-con._  
 _I found it odd that he had been released_  
 _from juvie so soon again. So I dug into it._

Trent began walking at a speed no human should be able to as he kept reading the blog. He didn't know where he was walking to, he just couldn't stand still anymore as he read.

 _Turns out Boyett was released so the juvie_  
 _could help cover up a little 'problem' they_  
 _had with him and a guard. They didn't want_  
 _to be sued by Boyett for letting it happen_  
 _apparently._

Trent slammed the boy's bathroom door open and growled so menacingly at the only other occupant, a freshman, that he scurried out with his pants still around his knees. Trent leaned against the sink and forced himself to keep reading. He had to know how much this said.

 _What happened behind those bars is a_  
 _gruesome act that most probably scarred_  
 _Boyett for life. He sure doesn't show it though._

Trent heard someone enter the bathroom but he didn't bother to acknowledge them as he kept reading the blog.

 _The simple fact is: Trent Boyett was raped_  
 _by a juvie guard and, to escape possible  
_ _legal action, the juvie had let Boyett out early.  
Looks like Boyett really isn't the big bad  
tough guy we all thought he was.  
What a shame._

A picture followed this. It was of a hospital record...Trent Boyett's hospital record to be exact...It said just what damage had been done to him at the hands of that guard and Trent felt nauseous just looking at it. He felt like the very world had dropped beneath his feat and he had nothing to hold onto anymore.

"Trent?" It was a muffled voice that Trent could barely hear over the roaring in his ears. "Trent!" This yell along with the sudden stinging in his cheek brought him out of his shock. He shook his head and was about to lash out and strike whoever was stupid enough to fuck with him at a time like this. Only...The moment he swung he fell right into the orange clad arms of none other than Kenny McCormick. Trent was soon unable to move as the arms engulfed him to the point where he could hardly breathe.

"M-McCormick?" He mentally swore at the stutter. "L-Let me go!"

"No," was the simple answer he got in return.

"No?" Anger flared inside him. "What do you mean no?!"

"I'm not letting you go, no matter how hard you struggle Trent." Kenny had a small smile on his face. "It looks like a hug is long overdue for you."

"A-A hug..." The word sounded foreign on Trent's tongue but he ceased his struggling and, after a few moments, he returned Kenny's hug. And if he happened to let a tear or two slip, well, Kenny didn't see a thing. When Trent was fully relaxed and they missed a good two class periods and lunch. Kenny finally let him go and turned away to give him some privacy to splash some water on his red and blotchy face.

"Feeling good enough to go to class Trent?"

"Nah," the word was a whisper in a hoarse throat. "Feel like skipping the rest of the day with me McCormick?" Kenny grins and nods, following Trent out of the restroom to the stares and whispers of the other students. No one said a word to him, not even Eric Cartman. Was it because they were still too scared of Trent Boyett or was it because Kenny McCormick stood a little too close and glared at anyone who so much as looked at Trent? The world may never know, I'm afraid.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Revealer gave a soft hum as she surveyed Trent walking out of the school with Kenny. This was definitely an interesting outcome. They pulled out their phone and made a few calls.

Next victim: Clyde Donovan.


	4. Orange

**Chapter 4**  
 _ **Orange**_

Sounds of retching filled the nearly empty house as its sole occupant heaved up everything it had consumed that day into the upstairs bathroom toilet. This was normal for Clyde Donovan. He would wake up in the morning, eat the bare minimum he could get away with if his family was around, go upstairs and puke it all up, get dressed, go to school, eat a huge lunch, feel like a fatass, go to the boy's bathroom after lunch, puke up everything again, show up ten minutes late to his next class, go home and exercise till he passes out while his father works and his sister is gone, eat some toast only to puke it up again and that's where he is now. A final dry heave and Clyde stood on wobbling legs as he flushed the toilet. He began brushing his teeth like crazy and had even had to take his tooth brush and paste to school along with plenty of mint gum so no one would get suspicious. As he brushed his teeth a ding caught his attention. It came from his open laptop down the hall on his desk.

Clyde, with his toothbrush still in his mouth, walked to his open bedroom and sat at his desk, clicking on the newest notification. The toothbrush dropped out of his mouth as he took in the Revealer's newest blog post.

 _Clyde Donovan._  
 _One of our school's star athletes._  
 _His life seems perfect, huh?_  
 _He can't complain about squat, right?_  
 _What secret could Clyde Donovan of all_  
 _people have?_

Clyde couldn't move, he couldn't blink, he couldn't breathe. It was as if time itself had stopped. They wouldn't...They...They couldn't! Then again the Revealer showed no mercy regarding Craig's sel-harm or Boyett's prison rape...Oh God!

 _Clyde Donovan is nothing more than_  
 _a bulimic freak._ _That's right,  
Donovan spends his free __time  
"purging himself". He eats a lot, right?  
_ _Well, that food only stays in him for no more than_  
 _30 minutes before he's puking it up again._

Tears stung Clyde's eyes as he couldn't look away from the screen.

 _Don't believe me? I have some delicious proof._

Clyde drew in a shaking breathe as he clicked play on the video. It was dated for just earlier today while he was at school. It began with him sitting a few tables over in the lunch room with his closest friends: Craig, Tweek, and Token. He was laughing and joking around with them and had a huge plate of food in front of him. He was absolutely devouring it without remorse, at the moment that it. The class bell could be heard ringing in the background and people began leaving to either go to their next class or skip. Clyde split from his friends and the camera followed him as he entered the boy's bathroom. How had Clyde never noticed he was being followed! They waited a few minutes before walking in as silently as possible behind him. Sounds of retching and coughing could be heard almost immediately upon entering. The filmer entered a stall next to Clyde's and stood on the toilet it looked like. They angled the camera down so it could catch Clyde just as he shoved his middle and index finger down his throat again. He heaved into the toilet bowl again and that's where the video cut off.

Clyde felt his stomach turn and churl. He felt queasy, nauseous. He read the next paragraph quickly.

 _See? I told you. It's_  
 _understandable really. Clyde_  
 _is, after all, the second fattest boy_  
 _in our school. He's getting close to Eric_  
 _Cartman's size about now. I guess he_  
 _should become anorexic as well as bulimic_  
 _at this point. No wonder he wears such big_  
 _jackets and sweaters. It's probably to hide_  
 _all that fat._

Clyde felt the need again. The need to purge himself of all this disgusting fat. He was a whale. A fucking fatass whale that deserved to starve itself too. He knocked his desk chair to the floor in his hurry to get up. Before he knew it, Clyde had locked himself in the bathroom and was bent over the toilet bowl with his fingers down his throat again. The relief he felt after puking anything left in his stomach was short lived. He still felt the unsatisfying need. So he did it again...and again...and again... He kept doing it until nothing but stomach acid came up and burned his throat as he dry heaved. Still, he pressed on with tears streaming down his cheeks and his body shaking to stay up.

He didn't hear the car doors slamming just outside of his house, he didn't hear people enter his carelessly unlocked home, didn't even hear the thundering feet coming up his stairs. He was to busy purging himself. Just a little bit more Clyde. Come on, you can do it.

"Clyde?!" He wasn't listening. "Clyde!" Again he shoved his fingers down his throat and dry heaved once more. He didn't hear the rattling of the bathroom's locked doorknob either. What he did hear though was the pounding of a fist against its almost hollow wood. Clyde figured that if he ignored it, then whoever was there would just leave him be.

No such luck.

A second later, his bathroom door was literally kicked in by a beyond pissed off Craig Tucker flanked by Tweek, Token, and, surprisingly, Kenny. Clyde was yanked away from the porcelain bowl and held firmly by the upper arms by his best friend.

"What is wrong with you?!" With each word Craig shook him some and it was worsening his already horrendous headache. He couldn't find the words to speak as he stared into furious blue eyes. He was saved by Token.

"Craig. Chill man, I think your hurting him." True to that fact, Clyde could feel bruises forming under his baggy jacket where Craig held him a good couple inches off the ground. Said blue clad man took a deep breathe and exhaled through his nose before gently lowering Clyde back to the ground and letting him go. Clyde felt dizzy and would have collapsed to the floor if Kenny hadn't caught him. The last word he heard before passing out was:

"Fuck!"

Damn it Craig, such a potty mouth.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

When Clyde woke up next, he was in a sterile white hospital room. He could see the dark night sky out the open window and could feel the needle in the crook of his elbow. Slowly, oh so slowly, Clyde sat up and felt a shift on the side of the bed. A quick look showed it was Craig fast asleep and laying his head on Clyde's legs. He looked around his apparent hospital room. Token, Tweek and Kenny were crowded around his bed all asleep at awkward angles in their respected seats. His father was asleep on the random couch in the corner with his little sister asleep in his lap, He could see Bebe and Wendy cuddling together, asleep as well, on the other end. The hospital room was filled with people, all asleep, on every surface available. He could see Red, Heidi, Nichole, Butters Stan, Kyle, even Cartman along with their respected parents. A look at his bedside table showed a variety of gifts from get well soon cards to balloons to stuffed animals to food. He felt tears start and he tried to stifle a sniffle but that was all it took for Craig to wake up.

He gave Clyde a dead serious look before pulling him tight against his chest. Craig leaned to whisper in his ear.

"You ever do a thing this stupid again and I will end you Clyde, understand?" Clyde gave a shaky nod as Craig's hold tightened. "We'll help you man. All of us will. We'll get through this together."

And Clyde believed him. After all, Craig never told lies.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Revealer smirked from where they stood among the group of concerned/nosy neighbors, watching as Clyde Donovan was loaded into an ambulance on a stretcher. They could hear soft crying from Bebe Stevens who stood a few feet away. Oh well. Their eyes locked on the group of boys following the stretcher out of the house.

Next Victim: Kenny McCormick.


	5. Yellow

**Chapter 5**  
 _ **Yellow**_

Kenny McCormick was hungry, starving in fact. He had refused again when Kyle offered to buy him lunch that day. Kyle and Stan. Everyday they offered to buy him something to eat but, like every single day, Kenny always refuses. He wasn't a charity case. Not an ounce of fat remained anywhere on his body. He was literally just a skeleton with a thin coat of skin. You could see his ribs protruding and the sharp ridges of his spine. His cheeks were hallow and his hip bones obvious on his body. Kenny was not anorexic. He wasn't. He wasn't. He wasn't. He told himself this everyday, almost like a mantra of sorts.

Of course no one knew how bad it was. His signature orange parka hid the severity of it all. They all just assumed he never had enough to eat at home. Which was true, in a way. He doesn't remember the last time he had a proper meal to eat. His stomach was so shrunken that even a small sandwich was all it took for him to feel full. Doing this just made him feel...in control of something in his pathetic life. A series of beeping took over the student filled classroom and, on instinct, everyone took their phones out quietly as the teacher droned on and on without a moment's pause. Kenny stared blankly down at his phone that he had to save up for months to get. Collective gasps and quiet murmurs filled the classroom. Kenny didn't look phased on the outside, but inside he was in turmoil.

 _Kenny McCormick is starving._

People turned to stare at him from all directions.

 _Yes, I know it's not that hard to believe. His_  
 _family is just too poor to afford much food so he_  
 _barely eats. That is only part of the problem though._

Kenny's breathe turned shallow.

 _Kenny never eats anymore. He is just a bag of bones_  
 _at this point. I have no idea why he does this to himself._  
 _I doubt anyone does. Everyday his friends offer to buy him_  
 _food. But does he accept? Nope._

He eats...sometimes. It's not that bad.

 _Kenny is slowly starving himself. I don't give him much time_  
 _before he kneels over and just dies from starvation._

He snorts in amusement. Him, die? Hilarious.

 _Kenny McCormick is going to die like this. But who will cry? No_  
 _one I bet. Sure his family will shed a few tears. But they'll_  
 _forget about him._

Okay, that stung a bit, but Kenny kept a stoic face and didn't let those staring see what he was feeling.

 _I say let him starve. Even when there's enough food for him_  
 _at home, he still doesn't eat. If he's too stupid to eat then who_  
 _should care if a white trash redneck like Kenny McCormick should_  
 _starve himself._

He bites the inside of his cheek till he tasted blood and forced himself to read the last bit.

 _Still don't believe me? Look under his parka._

After the final sentence there was two videos. The first showed Kenny sitting with his family at their old and dirty dining room table. His mom was placing waffles on plates for them to eat. Without a single person's notice he silently slips his food onto his baby sister's plate. The short video cuts off and Kenny clicks on the next one. It's Kenny in his messed up bedroom. He was changing apparently. Kenny carefully pulled down his parka hood, revealing his mussed up golden hair. A zzziiiippp filled the air as Kenny unzipped it and removed his orange parka. Next his baggy shirt came off and Kenny had to close his eyes at the sight of his own corpse like skeletal body. This video was only a few seconds but that was all that was needed. As soon as the video was over, the bell rang and Kenny was out of their like a bullet, his face still devoid of any and all emotion.

"Hey! McCormick!" Kenny ignored the yell and turned a corner, ducking into an empty classroom. He could see nothing but Trent Boyett run by. Kenny leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. The truth is, Kenny didn't know how to feel anymore. All he knew though is that he wanted to feel somewhat in control of something in his life and this made him feel close to it.

"Thought I'd find you here." Kenny looked up and saw none other than Clyde Donovan, fresh out of the hospital, standing in the open doorway with a sympathetic smile on his face. Kenny didn't want any sympathy, didn't want pity or anything like that. He came in and closed the door quietly. "Is that why you were so worried about me?" Kenny shrugged. "Thought so. Wanna talk about it?" A shake of his head. "Thought so..." They sat there in silence for quite awhile. How long? They didn't even know until the last bell rang, signalling the end of the school day. "C'mon," Clyde stood and his knees cracked. Deftly he yanked Kenny to his feet without so much as a thought. "Your friends are probably all worried and freaking out man. Boyett too I bet. He's been so attached to you lately. Let's go let them know you're still kicking." Kenny gave a quiet chuckle and followed Clyde Donovan out of the room.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Clyde was right. His friends had been freaking out. The moment he saw them they bombarded him from every angle and were demanding he tell them why. Why he did this, why he ignored their help, why he closed himself off...Kenny didn't answer a single question they had, he just smiled and nodded until they all calmed down.

"I'm tired," he finally said. It wasn't technically a lie, he was tired. Emotionally that is. "Mind if I go home and we finish this tomorrow?" Reluctantly his friends relented.

"Tomorrow I am buying you breakfast and lunch and you better fucking eat it McCormick!" Kyle was yelling after him as he began to leave the school. He could feel Clyde following him.

"If you need anything Kenny, or just want to talk...I'm here..."

Kenny turned to Clyde and smiled. "How are you holding up though Clyde?"

"I'm doing better thanks to Craig and the guys, they and my family have been taking turns doing 'Clyde Shifts'. Funny, huh?"

Kenny smiled. "As long as you're getting better." With that he left and made his way home. Someone was following him, he knew. He could here their footsteps behind him.

As he stepped up to his front door he turned and crossed his arms. "Really Trent?" Said boy glared at the parka clad teen. He had a plastic bag in hand that Kenny couldn't make out the contents of.

"Yes really, you and me need to have a little chat." Trent Boyett pushed past Kenny and into the latter's empty home heading directly towards Kenny's bedding. Since the 'bathroom incident', as Trent classified it, he had been over to the McCormick home a couple of times and knew how to easily navigate it. Kenny gave an exasperated sigh and followed his...friend? Were they friends? He liked to think they were after all.

Trent was sitting on Kenny's bed, which was nothing more than a lumpy mattress with a few springs poking out. "So? Talk?" Kenny didn't want to make small talk. He just wanted Trent to say his piece and leave him be for now.

"Take off your parka." Huh?

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Take. Off. The. Damn. PARKA!" Trent's voice held little to no room for argument and Kenny felt the need to comply. So he did, easily stripping his parka off his bony figure. He turned so his back was to Trent. A barely audible gasp was all he heard.

"Happy?" He slowly turned to face the juvenile delinquent and bit his lip. Kenny's body was nothing but bones in a thin sheet of skin. A hand, much larger and warmer than his own, encircled one bony wrist easily and pulled him to sit on the bed.

"McCormick, I don't care what you tell me, but I AM going to help you no matter whether you want my help or not."

Again, his voice left no room for argument and Kenny could only nod in response.

"I brought you some food and you are going to eat it all even if I have to feed you myself." Another nod and Kenny lightly ran his hand up Trent's arm. It didn't tense like it used to when Kenny touched him.

That's a good sign.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Another check off their list. Oooh, everything was coming along nicely.

Next Victim: Kyle Broflovski.


	6. Gold

**Chapter 6**  
 _ **Gold**_

It was a nice Saturday afternoon, not a cloud in the perfect;y blue sky which was exactly how Kyle Broflovski liked it. He was currently sitting in a booth at Tweak Bros. Coffee with Kenny sitting across from him. The coffee may be complete and utter shit (but we don't tell Tweek that) but the pastries that Tweek makes are to die for. Of course they still ordered coffee too since they didn't want to upset or offend Tweek. Kyle wanted a snack and he forced Kenny to come along, watching the other like a hawk as he took small bites of his of red velvet cake slice. Kyle sure led up to his promise of feeding Kenny. It's been a few days since the last Revealer's post that outed Kenny's eating habits. Kyle or Stan (even Cartman occasionally) had bought him breakfast and lunch just about everyday and took turns inviting him to dinner. Kenny kept trying to refuse but this time they refused to take no for an answer. And for a good reason too.

Kyle absently rubbed at his chest without a second thought. It hurt but that was normal. Beeping filled the small coffee shop and Kyle saw his fellow students who were sitting around pull out their phones. Dread filled him as he saw a few look at him with shocked faces. Kenny had pulled out his own phone and made a small sound in the back of his throat. Shaking fingers reached into his coat pocket and Kyle withdrew his phone, opening up his latest notification.

 _Kyle Brolovfski.  
Nerd, Jew, ginger, Jersey boy._

Kyle couldn't help but roll his eyes despite the dread. This sounded just like... Kyle shook his head. Even he wouldn't go this far.

 _Everyone knows Kyle.  
Student Body President, Future Valedictorian._

A slight smile from the ginger haired boy.

 _But what secret could be so big that Kyle would have to  
hide it from everyone? Even his closest friends._

Said smile faded and thus the dread has returned as Kyle scrolled down farther to continue reading.

 _Do you think your small town minds can handle this?  
Are you accepting enough?  
I doubt it._

Kyle doubts it too. That's why he never told a soul! He felt tears begin forming already. Kenny reached across the table and laid his hand on top of Kyle's squeezing it gently in reassurance. With that, Kyle is able to force himself to finish the article about to ruin his life.

 _Anywho, drum roll please.  
Are you ready for this?  
Da da da!  
_ _Kyle Broflovski is really Kyla Broflovski._

It was as if the very ground beneath his feet dropped away. Not a sound was in the cafe. Even Tweek stared transfixed at his phone while pouring a cup of coffee, the dark liquid overfilling the cup and covering the table.

 _That's right. Kyle is a born female._

The tears fell freely down Kyle's face as Kenny's grip on his hand tightened.

 _She has hid her real gender from everyone from such  
an early age that not a single person remembers beside  
her family. I bet her little brother doesn't even know  
he has a sister instead of a brother. Even her parents  
don't even acknowledge her true gender._

It was true, Ike didn't know Kyle was scientifically a born female and, upon Kyle's request, their parents treated him as if he was a boy. Though Sheila did have to go get him a few "womanly products".

 _Maybe they influenced her on this choice?_

Now that made Kyle feel angry. His parents may be self righteous assholes but theu would never make him be someone he wasn't. Kenny, sensing his friends anger stood and moved to the other side of the booth to sit next to his friend and attempt to comfort him.

 _How does it feel to know that someone you knew since  
kindergarten has lied to your face every single day?_

Kenny had known Kyle that long and honestly he doesn't care if Kyle was male, female, shemale or whatever. He was still Kyle. The apparent female's eyes shed more tears as he scrolled down and saw a few pictures. One was of Kyle's birth certificate and the other...The other was of Kyle getting dressed in his bathroom. You could clearly see Kyle wearing what looked like a tight tank top but a caption at the bottom told anyone reading that it was a chest binder.

 _Kyla wears a chest binder that is made of a  
constrictive material meant to flatten  
_ _her breasts so that to the untrained eye  
they are unnoticeable.  
I'd say this is my best blog yet, don't  
you agree?_

No, no Kyle didn't agree. This was his worst nightmare. Not only would everyone know, but he would get bullied for sure! Oh, God Cartman was going to see this! Oh God. Oh God. Oh God! Kyle didn't even know he was hyperventilating until Kenny was shaking his shoulders and slapped his face like he had done to Trent almost a month ago.

"Kyle!" Kenny was staring deep into Kyle's eyes. "It's okay man. It's okay." Kyle was a blubbering mess and he latched onto Kenny's parka, sobbing into his chest. A famous McCormick grin met anyone who so much as looked at them weirdly. A timid and violently twitching Tweek finally snapped out of his daze and cleaned up the spilt coffee before approaching their table.

"H-Here!" He shakily sat a plate down in front of them. It was a piece of key lime pie. "I-It's-ACK!-O-on the h-house!" He was stuttering and twitching more than usual.

"Thanks Tweek," Kenny smiled as he rubbed a still sobbing Kyle's back. "How are Craig and Clyde holding up?"

"O-Oh!" This seemed to calm him just slightly. "Their doing g-great! Craig d-doing b-better a-and-AAH!-we got Clyde's w-weight up s-some!" Kenny smiled slightly. "H-how are T-Trent and y-you? Tweek fiddled with his thumbs.

"Trent's doing better than before and my friends are making sure I eat. They threatened to hold me down before, ahah!" Kenny and Tweek shared a small laugh as Kyle's sobs finally managed to dwindle down to sniffling and the occasional hiccups. Tweek glanced nervously at Kyle, twitching more.

"A-And h-how is..."

"HE is going to be okay." Kenny made sure to emphasize the he. Tweek gave a jerky nod and left to get back to work. Kenny smiled and pushed the piece of pie closer to Kyle. "Eat this and I'm gonna call Stan and Bebe. We'll go to her house and talk about this." Kyle didn't want to but he couldn't say no Kenny. No one could.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Revealer sipped their cappuccino, shuddering slightly at the taste. They looked over at the hysterical red head and calm blonde in a few booths away in the coffee shop. Who should be their next victim? The Reavealer's eyes landed on Tweek and they hummed in thought. No, not yet. A bell rang and a happy, cheerful voice entered the silent cafe. "Hiya Tweek! I need two usuals for my folks!"

"C-Coming right-ACK!-up!"

Perfect.

Next Victim: Butters Stotch.


	7. Green

**Chapter 7**  
 _ **Green**_

Butters Stotch is the sweetest boy you could ever meet, very few could rival his sweetness. The person that came closest was Pip Pirrup but even he had his triggers (like being called French). Butters would often skip down the halls, humming his apple song or whatever. He was a sensitive boy too, like when Cartman or the older kids like the Seniors called him a faggot he would run to the school bathroom and bawl his eyes out. It was nice, though, that someone could still have some cheer in school. Everyone kept their heads down in hope to not catch the eye of The Revealer. Poor Tweek was currently freaking out in the bathroom loud enough that Butters could hear as he skipped by.

"B-But-AAH!-What if I-I'm n-n-next! TOO MUCH PRESSURE!"

"Everything will be okay Tweek."

"Y-YOU DON'T KN-KNOW THAT CRAIG!"

Butters idly wondered what he could've been hiding. A lot of people kept checking their phones nervously. He wondered what they all could be hiding. Christophe and Gregory were talking in hushed voices. Christophe forgoed his typical short sleeves for a dark green sweater, which was odd. He never wore long sleeves really. By the looks of it Gregory was suspicious as well. They had a lot too hide, being mercenaries. The Goth Kids were casually smoking in an empty classroom Butters had peeked into, even they seemed nervous. Pip was trying to hold a conversation with Damien, but the Antichrist was ignoring him. Pip probably was safe, he couldn't be hiding anything but Damien was a mystery to Butters.

Stan was talking with Kenny and Kyle, the latest victim. Poor Kyle. It turned out he was born a girl but Kyle completely identifies as male. He even changed his name permanently from Kyla to Kyle awhile ago. PC Principal threatened anyone who questioned Kyle's choice. Stan and Kenny's glares and threats also helped keep Cartman's comments at bay for the moment but it was only a matter of time. The girls, like Wendy and Bebe, even began hanging out with Kyle more.

 _BEEP!_

 _BEEP!_

 _BEEP!_

Butters instinctly took out his phone and scrolled through his newest notifications as he continued on his way out of the school to walk home. Another blog by The Revealer. Oh hamburgers, who was it now?!

 _Leopold "Butters" Stotch._

Cold. He felt colder than ever before as he stood outside of the school. What could they possible have found out about him? Oh no, he was going to get grounded for sure!

 _Honestly, this is gonna be short and straight to the point._

A short lived sigh of relief. Maybe it wasn't too bad...

 _First off, you all are probably wondering what could Butters of all people  
be hiding? _Well, everyone has their secrets and I found his.

The cold kept growing and his legs felt numb as he forced himself to continue on his way home. He could feel eyes on him.

 _It's cute really and probably not that hard to believe for some, but  
others are in for a shock. Not a big one though._

Please no. Please no. Please no. Please no.

 _Butters Stotch is a cross dresser._

Shame accompanied the cold and numbness as he dropped his head with tears welling up in his china blue eyes.

 _I know, I know. Doesn't sound that bad, right?_

Speak for yourself. This is humiliating.

 _Remember in 4th grade when the boys all forced him to dress as a girl  
and infiltrate __Heidi Turner's sleepover? Made him go by the name  
Marjorine?_

A deep blush spread across Butters' face and he bit his lip. That's where everything began.

 _I guess that got the wheels turning in his confused little brain._

He frowned deeply as the tears kept coming. His brain wasn't little and he wasn't confused gosh darn it! Butters HATED when people told him he was confused. He absolutely HATED it. He scrolled down more and a few pictures were there. The first was of Butters in his room, dressed up in a white sundress and flats and standing in front of his mirror. The next, Butters recalled, was of him when he visited Denver for a school trip during an away game just last weekend. He was dressed in a red dress this time. It stopped just above his knees and had a slit in the side that went almost all the way up his thigh. His face was painted with a delicate amount of make up and he wore black stilettos. As his hair was typically short, Butters was wearing a blond wig in this picture. What was the most shocking was that he was walking with a tall man who had his arm around Butters waist. Butters felt the never ending tears drip off his chin and onto his baby blue sweater.

Butters stopped walking and sat down on a bus stop bench. His legs felt weak and his arms were shaking.

 _What? Did you think he ONLY cross dressed? Nope! Butters is a sugar baby  
by the looks of it._

No...No he wasn't a sugar baby...That man was really a gentleman...and he offered to walk him back to his hotel. That was it! Oh hamburgers his life was over. He was going to be grounded for life and outcasted by his peers.

 _Till next time my lovely readers!_

The Revealer was mocking them all! They had to be! Butters shaking hands dropped his phone into the snow. His tears blurred his vision and soaked his red cheeks. He covered his face with his hands and began to sob quietly. The cold was seeping through his clothes now and the numbness grew from his legs up to his torso and through his arms down to his finger tips. He was completely and utterly doomed.

A heavy weight settled next to him on the bench, causing it to bounce slightly. Butters couldn't look up. He just couldn't. No doubt this person also saw the blog... Everyone probably did. He sniffled at the though.

"Butters?" At that Butters' head snapped up and he stared into the eyes of South Park's resident devil and no we're not talking about Damien Thorne.

"E-Eric...?" Butters wiped his tears but more just kept coming. "Wh-what do you w-want?" He hiccuped.

"Nothing really." Cartman wasn't looking at him and that just made Butters feel worse. He was glaring at the ground with his arms crossed. "But...maybe do...ah don't know...Wanna come over to my place?" Butters tilted his head in utter confusion. It was obvious Cartman was skirting around the blog post.

"U-Uh, sure E-Eric!" Butters tears had slowed to a trickle and he wiped his face only for more to slowly trail down his face. He jumped and his face turned redder when Eric reached over and wiped another away. It was oddly out of character for Butters but it was better than being verbally abused by the bigger boy.

"L-let's go then..." Was he blushing? No, must be Butters' imagination.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Revealer had watched as Butters began walking home while staring at his phone. Others stared at him and Eric Cartman began to follow him. As the students all slowly dispersed on their own ways home a loud, heavily accented voice rang out.

"Fuck your God Gregory! Zis is fucking bull sheet!" The Revealer turned and stared at the fuming Frenchman.

And bingo was his name-o~!

Next Victim: Christophe Delorne.


	8. Blue

**Chapter 8**  
 _ **Blue**_

Christophe swore in French as his mother threw another vase at him. He ducked and rolled away, grabbing his bag and shovel before storming out of his home with his mother still yelling obscenities in their mother tongue at him as he went. From one hell unto another, he began his short walk to school. It was snowing slightly and Christophe grunted as he adjusted his bag and slid his shovel into its strap, the school having long decided it wasn't worth the effort to get him to leave it at home or confiscate it.

He rubbed his arm under its coat sleeve. He winced, feeling a bruise forming already. Oh well...

"Christophe!" A defined British accent echoed around the nearly empty street, causing Christophe to glance over his shoulder towards the echoes' origins. Grinning and waving at him was his closest friend (he refused to say best friend, that was for girls) Gregory. The young Brit was speed walking towards him and Christophe had stopped walking so his friend could catch up to him. Gregory stopped right next to Christophe and grinned brightly at him. His golden hair was dotted with snowflakes and he was dressed to impress like always. His friend suddenly frowned and grabbed Christophe's chin. "Are you wearing cover up?"

An internal swear and Ze Mole shook off Gregory's hand and stepped back. "No, must be your imazination." The darker haired teen retrieved his pack of cigarettes and lit one up with his lighter that he kept hidden in his boot. His friend didn't look convinced but Christophe gave him no time to question it as he continued on his way to school. He took a deep, deep drag of his cigarette before tossing it into the snow and stamping it out with the heel of his boot.

"Those things are gonna kill you one day." Gregory fell into step beside his friend and watched as he retrieved a new cancer stick.

"Your point?" Christophe didn't look at Gregory, he figured it would be best if he didn't get a clear look at him.

"Oh nothing..." They continued to school in silence.

Christophe was in a bad mood all and day after that up to lunch. His mood was obvious to everyone around him. Everyone scurried out of his way as he stomped down the halls well, almost everyone. Gregory was never one to be scared of Christophe, no matter his mood.

Sitting down angrily at a lunch table in the corner of the cafeteria, Christophe glared at his lunch tray and completely ignored Gregory as he sat down across from him with his own lunch. Neither said anything as they ate. It was an awkward silence, nothing like their usual silence. It was only interrupted by the sounds of beeping as they filled the cafeteria. Any and all sound from the other students stopped as people began taking out their phones. Gregory took out his own phone and gasped quietly. This only worried Christophe who fumbled to get his own phone out of his stained cargo pants' pocket. His newest notification: A new blog by The Revealer. He felt dread crawling up his throat as he opened it and his heart dropped to his stomach as he saw the first few words.

 _Christophe DeLorne A.K.A Ze Mole._

He gulped quietly.

 _I bet you're all just_ dying _to hear one of his secrets,  
now aren't you?_

He glanced around nervously. More than a couple people were staring and he refused to look at a shocked Gregory.

 _Notice the long sleeves his recently been wearing in lieu of his usual  
t-shirts? __He's only been wearing them because it's been getting  
worse._

This can't be real. The Revealer couldn't of possibly found this out!

 _What, you may ask, has been getting worse?_  
 _Why his home life of course!_

No...No...No!

 _No father and a drunk of a mother is bad enough,_

Christophe winces at the mention of his parents and Gregory is trying to get his attention.

 _but when she's been hitting the_ _happy juice too  
much things get...bad for Christophe._

He held his head in shame and pinched his arm right where a bruise was hidden to keep his tears back.

 _Bruises and cuts and scars cover him from where  
his mother has beaten or cut or thrown something or  
_ _straight up abused him._

He tugged at his long sleeves, just the hint of a bruise peeking out and horrifying his closest friend.

 _When did this all start? Perhaps when she tried to abort him  
with a coat hanger._

Another flinch at the mention of his almost abortion.

 _It's not that hard to believe it though._ _With a child  
like Christophe? He probably deserves it._

He did. He shouldn't upset his mother so much. Christophe bit his lip as he saw a picture of him changing in his room. You could only see his back but that was enough. There were bruises and welts and cuts and scratches. It was dated for less than a week ago. Shakily he clicked on one of the two videos. This one was dated for just yesterday. It started where you could clearly see Christophe's home and the camera was moving forward as the filmer walked up to the house. The closer they got the more muffled screaming you could hear. They camera kept moving till their were right by a window and peering in. You couldn't exactly make out what was being said but you could hear a lot of yelling and see what was going on inside. Christophe was on the floor, supporting himself on his left elbow. You could see him holding his right eye as blood trickled down his arm. His mother stood before him with a wine bottle in hand with it raised as if to strike. And strike she did. She hit him hard in the right shoulder and then the left knee and then his gut, causing him to cough violently and to collapse to the ground. Then the video cuts off.

"Ch-Christophe..." Gregpry was stuttering...Gregory never stuttered.

But Christophe ignored him, he was on autopilot as he clicked on the second, but much shorter video. It began seeing Christophe dressed in his bathroom. You could barely make out his mumbled swears as he was pulling a couple bottles out and setting them on the stand. A quick zoom in showed it to be cover up and foundation. As Christophe turned to grab something, you could clearly see a brutal and ugly looking black eye adorning the right side of his face and bruises in the shape of finger prints on his jaw. Without an hesitation, he began applying and reapplying the cover up and foundation till you couldn't even make out the black eye again. The video cuts off. It was dated for this morning.

Christophe, still on autopilot, stood his lunch long forgotten as he left the cafeteria as many people watched him go a few of the girls crying quietly.

"Christophe!" Gregory was calling after him but he continued ignoring it as he walked down the halls and straight out of the school. There was no way he was staying for the rest of the day. He wasn't going home either though. He walked and walked and walked until he came to the edge of Starks' Pond. He remembered how Gregory taught him how to skate here when the were really young. It seemed like eons ago since he met Gregory. Christophe plopped down into the snow, ignoring the biting cold as it nipped at his flesh. It would be spring soon at least.

"Thought I'd find you here." It wasn't Gregory. When Ze Mole turned and looked he came face to face with Wendy Testaburger. Christophe didn't hate her exactly, but he didn't like her much either. But that was only because she was briefly dating Gregory and stealing all of the Brit's attention from him.

"What do you want Wendy?" Christophe turned back to stare at the lake's frozen surface.

"Just to talk." She carefully crouched next to the vulgar Frenchman. "Gregory's freaking out."

"So?"

"So? He's worried about you. I told him I'd talk to you first and Stan, Kenny and Bebe agreed to keep him from storming out to find you himself." Wendy bit her lip. "Just, come back to my house with me. I'll text Bebe to bring Gregory over. He wants to talk to you."

"I don't care beetch."

Wendy bristled at the name but let go as that's what Christophe called everyone. "Do you have any idea how you acting like this makes him feel? He just found out his best friend is being beaten to a pulp everyday-" Christophe flinches but Wendy keeps going. "And that said friend wouldn't even TELL him what was going on!" She raised her voice here. "He feels like he failed you as a friend! Because he wasn't there when you needed him!" Wendy took a deep breathe and calmed down as she noticed Christophe's shaking shoulders. "Just...come to my house and talk with him...Please?" With a shaky sigh (fuck, where were his cigarettes?) Christophe nodded and stood.

"Fine beetch..." Wendy smiled softly and sent a quick text to Bebe.

"I borrowed Stan's car." She opened the passenger side door for Christophe and he glared at her as she smiled innocently but nonetheless got in. The heat of the vehicle was a welcome reprieve to the cold he felt. It was a silent car ride, but not an awkward silence like earlier.

As Wendy parked Christophe felt nervous like never before as he saw Gregory and Bebe already waiting for them on the front porch. He took a deep breathe, relaxed as he saw Wendy's reassuring smile...and got out of the car.

One beat. Two beats. Three-POW!

Christophe fell back against the car as a force like a freight train plowed straight into his midsection.

"How dare you," was muffled against his chest. Christophe glanced down with a sad smile at his best friend.

"'ow dare I what?" Gregory lifted his head and glared as much as he could with watering eyes.

"How dare you go through this alone!"

"I'm sorry mon amie."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

It was pure coincidence The Revealer saw the display in front of the Testaburger household. Wendy and Bebe were smiling as the usual level headed and calm Brit cried into his French best friend's chest. They pulled a notepad out and slashed out Christophe's name. The Revealer places it back in their bag and pushes their dark hair out of their eyes before continuing to walk with a skip in their step.

Next Victim: Pete Thelman.


	9. Purple

**Chapter 9**  
 _ **Purple**_

Conformists. Conformists everywhere. Pete felt apathetic as he sat in one of the few classes that he attended. Art. He silently loved art and the feeling of being able to create what he wanted to. He stared around at all the typical teenagers around him. Hardly anyone of them knew the struggles of life, especially the fatass. The closest who came to it was McCormick. Pete hummed softly as he continued his artwork. It was actually inspired by a few of the Revealer's blogs. It was a young man sitting down against his bed with his legs spread and arms out to the side. His wrists were sliced to carnage and bruises littered his yellowish and clammy skin. He was so skinny you could see just about every bone in his body. The most haunting feature was the man's wide, sunken eyes that just stared at you as if saying "You did this. Society did this. Are you happy now? Are you proud of me yet? I sure hope so." With a flick oh his wrist Pete signed his name at the bottom with purple ink.

 _Bing!_

 _Bing!_

 _Bing!_

Audible groans could be heard throughout the art room as student after student pulled out their phones, even the art teacher did too. Pete refused to do the same as he held up his art so he could get a better look at it. He smiled a foreign smile, finally satisfied with his art piece, and leaned back in his seat to relax. The room went eerily quiet which was way different from the usual buzz of activity. The moment Pete looked up he caught two dozen eyes staring at him with shocked, pitiful, disgusted, and knowing gazes. He fingers itched to grab his phone, but he withheld the urge.

 _Riiinnnggg!_

Pete was out of there and walking down the hall towards the back doors of the school. He could feel it, all the people staring at him, judging him more than usual. The newest post couldn't be about him, it just couldn't be. But he knew if he looked at his phone then he would regret it.

He and the other goths usually met up behind the school during this period when they skipped. But, when he walked outside, he couldn't see any of them. Was he the first one there? That never happened. Henrietta or Michael were usually the first to show up. It was odd but Pete took it in stride and sat on the steps. His hands were oddly steady as he retrieved his smokes from his jacket pocket. His steady hands were the opposite of his fiery nerves. His phone was burning a hole through his pocket, just begging him to pick it up and see the newest notification. Pete's fingers twitched as he lit his cigarette. They definitely wanted to see what it was, but Pete already had the sickening feeling that he knew what it was.

Pete was _scared_. He was scared to see what he somehow already knew.

But he still found himself letting his body move on his own accord, pulling out his phone and shakily hitting on the newest notification. He took a hard, long drag of his cigarette, sucking it halfway down his throat before exhaling and beginning the next most horrible and miserable moments of his life.

 _Pete Thelman.  
_ _What could I possibly have to say about him?_

Nothing hopefully...

 _He's just one of those goth kid losers, huh?_

Pete bristled at the insult. He didn't care if people called him that, but how DARE they insult his friends.

 _Not very important, is he?_

A little sting there.

 _Well, his secret isn't that horrible.  
I mean, you see it just about everyday at this school.  
_ _But, I'm still going to say it._

Oh no...Please, please, please, please don't be what he thinks it is. Please don't. Oh God, oh God, OH GOD!

 _Pete Thelman is gay._

Silent tears stung his eyes and trailed down his cheeks, smearing the tiny bit of eyeliner he began wearing at Henrietta's suggestion.

 _I know, like I said you see this everyday and  
it's not too horrible. But for him it is.  
_ _Oh what would his dear old mom and dad be  
saying when they read this?_

A sob wrenched itself past chapped lips and Pete's cigarette found itself falling into the snow by Pete's feet, forever silenced as the snow snuffed out it's flame.

 _It's just going to break their hearts, isn't  
it Pete? Their one and only son is a big, old faggot.  
A poof. A fairy._

A louder sob and Pete began hyperventilating. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

 _How is this going to affect their future ideas for you?  
They probably wanted you to have a nice wife  
and some beautiful non goth kids too.  
Why you gotta go breaking their hearts  
like that?  
_

He didn't mean to, he didn't ask to be born this way. He was so sorry.

 _Shame on you Pete Thelman._

The article ended with a small picture of Pete when he visited family over in Denver last week. It showed him in a club, highly intoxicated and letting a buff man hold him against a wall and kiss his neck. Pete couldn't even claim it was non consensual, not with that look of pure and utter ecstasy on his face. His shaking hands could no longer hold his phone up and it fell with a soft thud into the snow. Pete buried his face in his knees and just cried. He barely registered the backdoor opening nor the quiet footsteps crunching in the snow as they approached him. He just kept sobbing and crying into his knees without a care as to who might see him.

"Petey..." Only a select few could and would call him that and Pete couldn't stand to look up as his friends sat and knelt beside him. "Petey," It was Henrietta trying to gain his attention, but Pete adamantly refused to lift his head and look at him. Three pairs of warm, yet pale arms, encircled the sobbing boy and this only made him cry harder.

"Hey," Michael whispered quietly in his ear. "Stay with me tonight and we'll all go with you to face you parents tomorrow. That okay?" Pete nodded and sniffled as Henrietta stroked his hair and Firkle lit him a cigarette. "You'll be okay Petey. We promise."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Revealer smiles as she sees the sobbing mess of a boy that she caused across the parking lot behind the school. She quickly turned and left as his friends emerged from the school with looks of shock plastered across their faces. Another one bites the dust.

Next Victim: Eric Cartman.


	10. Violet

**Chapter 10  
** ** _Violet_**

Eric Cartman was an asshole. Everyone knew this. Everyone was used to this.

Eric Cartman enjoyed bullying people and making people suffer. Why? None of them know.

Well, he doesn't like one person to suffer.

Butters Stotch.

Cartman had to admit he had a soft spot for the boy. He felt things he couldn't quiet explain when he was around him. It felt odd and different and Eric Cartman hated it. He HATED IT.

"Eric! Eric!" Cue the blonde bundle of joy.

"What is it Butters?"

"Can we go to the movies tonight? There's this new movie I wanna see, but I don't want to go alone..."

"Sure."

"Yay!"

Why couldn't he tell him no...?

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The movie had sucked and it was already pitch black by the time they left the movie theater. A sudden dual beeping filled the air as the duo began to walk. Both Butters and Cartman tugged their phones out of the coat pockets and stared at their respective screens as the newest notification opened up.

The Revealer was at it again.

Life fucking sucks.

 _Bipolar disorder.  
It may not seem like it, but bipolar  
disorder is a really horrid thing to have.  
Right, Eric Cartman?_

Cartman was more than confused. He didn't have bipolar disorder...Did he?

 _The again, it's not that bad if you are  
unaware that you have it._

"Eric?" The blonde tugged on his sleeve.

 _That's right. Eric Cartman has been  
_ _diagnosed with bipolar disorder, but  
he is unaware of this. Guess it's something  
mother dearest kept quiet._

His mom..She wouldn't have...She couldn't have...No...

"Eric?"

 _That boy goes through therapists like he does  
candy. It actually explains quite a lot of  
the things he's done. Right?_

It was short. One of the shortest blogs they posted yet, but, as always, there's some form of visual proof pinned to the bottom. It was a slideshow of multiple therapist notes and doctor evaluations.

They all said the same thing and most of them had his mother's god damn signature on them. How dare that bitch hide something like this from him.

Tears of anger, humiliation and frustration welled up in Cartman's eyes as he clenched his phone too tightly.

"Eric..." Gentle, soft hands placed themselves over his own and Cartman lifted his head and licked his teary eyes on pale blue. "Eric. It's going to be okay." A big, innocent smile split Butters face and Cartman couldn't help but give a small smile in return.

"Yeah, you're right Butters."

"Let's talk to your mom together about this. Yeah?"

"Yeah..."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Awe, how cute. The Revealer locked her eyes on the pair from where she stood across the street. A sniffle was heard from her side and a folder pressed into her hands.

"I got it...but why does it have to be Gregory now? He's my friend..."

"All will be revealed to those who wait, Wendy dear."

Next Victim: Gregory Tveit.


	11. Pink

**Chapter 11**  
 _ **Pink**_

Gregory gave a small smile as he silently let a fuming Christophe drag him along. He had been arguing with ' _Ze fuckeeng fat bastard 'oo damn well knows I am French not Breeteesh._ ' Christophe had a...volatile temper and not many people could calm him down when he got going. Except Gregory. Christophe could never stay mad around Gregory for some reason. Maybe it was his kind, knowing smile. Or possibly the intensity and understanding in those shockingly blue eyes.

Or it could be the way he held him when he was upset, whispering soothing and comforting words into the Frenchman's ear.

Christophe DeLorne was, and he hated to admit it, in love with his closest friend. The man he had knew since childhood. The man who he fought beside, the man who he would fight tooth and limb for. But, did Gregory know of his friends feelings?

No, no of course not. Christophe could and would never admit just how much he loved Gregory Tveit.

He would die first before possibly loosing the friendship he shared with this man.

"Come on Christophe, let's just hurry up and get to class. You don't have to deal with him again for another the periods. Enjoy the break." Gregory gave him the smile he knew Christophe couldn't win against.

"Yeah, whatever." And that was it. No more narrowed eyes or furrowed brows or clenched teeth with snarling lips. Just a calm, albeit blank, expression. Gregory patted his shoulder and they made their way to their shared anatomy class.

 _Bing! Bing! Bing!"_

Sighs and worried murmurs surrounded the two boys as one by one, students and teachers alike began pulling their phones out.

"I knew it!"

"Oh my, really?"

"Who would have thought, huh Eric?"

"Fucking faggot."

Eyes a many stared at the two boys who had yet to look at their phones, but just the looks sent Gregory into a mild panic attack. It wasn't like his secret made him feel horrible or affected him deeply. It was just his reputation he worried about. Gregory took out his phone and opened up the newest blog.

 _Gregory Tveit  
_ _Pristine and posh  
_ _The epitome of British class_

Oh God damn it.

 _Now what could this handsome,_  
 _political, piece of eye candy keep_  
 _a secret? A secret that not even his best_  
 _friend knows._

"Gregory?"

"One second Christophe..."

 _Why, he's a fucking whore of course~!_

"Gregory!"

"Just...Just wait 'Tophe..."

 _You all think McCormick is the town whore,  
but oh no! He's just more open about his  
sexual encounters._

Said orange clad boy looked over from where he stood leaning against Trent Boyett's locker. It was a look of pure and utter sympathy, that had Gregory grinding his teeth.

 _Gregory fucks his way through  
South Park to Denver. Slut. He's fucked men, woman. It  
doesn't matter to him._

That's...That's not true...He isn't...He doesn't...

 _Gregory, you fucking slut._

No...No...No...

Tears welled up in blue eyes. There were pictures...So many pictures of him with different people...The dates on the photos were so close together too...

A strong, calloused hand wrapped around his bicep and tugged him down the hallway and into a janitor's closet. Gregory was sniffling and wiping the silent tears from his eyes. He couldn't bare to look at Christophe...He just couldn't...

"Gregory...Look at me, mon amie." And he did. Gregory locked eyes with Christophe's intense green ones. "You are _okay_. I promeese. If anyone says anyzing, anyzing at all too you. I'll take my shovel to zeir 'ead." That drew a watery laugh from the blonde. "I'm not going to judge you for you choices. You can tell me when you are ready."

"Thanks Christophe."

"Pas de probleme mon amour."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Revealer gave a soft hum as she leaned against the wall next to a janitor's closet. This was...interesting.

"Does she have it, Wendy?"

"Yeah...Bebe said she'll drop it off at your house after school..."

"Good."

"H-H-H-Hey L-L-!"

"Hey Jimmy."

Next Victim: Tweek Tweak.


	12. Pearl

**Chapter 12  
** _ **Pearl**_

 _Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. OH, GOD!_

He was coming up, he just knew it. But...But the Revealer couldn't POSSIBLY know his secret, could they? Oh God, they could! He was doomed. D-O-O-M-E-D! What would his friends say! What would his parents say! His life as he knows it would be over. He'd have to change schools. No, no, change his identity first and move out of the country would be better! Berlin is nice around this time of year. Oh, who is he kidding? He doesn't know a darn thing about Berlin!

"Tweek, you okay?" The nasally voice immediately has his full attention. Tweek stared at his boyfriend with tear-filled eyes and blotchy cheeks. "Oh, Tweek." Warm, wiry arms wrapped around him and pulled him close. "Shh, calm down. I got you."

 _Ping!_

"Oh God!" Tweek's stomach sank at the single, innocent sound that filled the small van that was Craig's " _Tuckermobile_ " as Clyde affectionately dubbed it. Both boys were laying in the back where a small bed like area had been set up. It was perfect for when he fought with his parents...or when he and Tweek got a little randy during school.

"Hey, come on Tweek. It's probably about a chick this time anyways. They've done how many boys in a row now, it's bound to be a girl's turn." Tweek gave a jerky nod and reached a shaking hand over to grab his phone from the other side of their little bed. He looked to Craig with paranoid, twitching eyes and felt encouraged to open up his latest notification.

 _Tweek Tweak._

"ACK-! C-C-Craig?!" But the other boy was already reading the blog, his face getting darker and darker as he read. Tweek hesitated and shook violently as he looked down at his own phone again

 _Ooh, he's probably losing his mind by now as he reads this._

Yep. Most definitely.

 _Let's see...where to begin._ _Oh, I know! Tweek Tweak  
is an addict._

For once, Tweek's body stills. A what? This isn't what he expected. He's not an addict. Well, maybe to coffee...

 _No, not to coffee._

Jinxed himself, he did.

 _He's a meth head!_

Horror dawned on the poor boy and his twitching came back with a vengeance. No, no he isn't. He's never used in his life. Oh, GOD! What does Craig think?! His eyes flickered up to meet the silent boy's, but Craig refused to look up from his phone, his face carefully blank of emotion.

 _A user. A worthless drugee._

No...No, he isn't. It can't be. He's never...

 _It's not all his fault, I suppose. He doesn't even know he's using,_

He isn't using! He would never! This is all just lies, it just has to be!

 _but what idiot wouldn't? His parents drug their coffee with meth and,  
as if serving that shit to their customers isn't bad enough, they  
constantly give it to their son to drink. A+ parenting, am I right?_

He went still again. No, they wouldn't. His mom and dad wouldn't do that to their customers...wouldn't do that to _HIM_. They love him, why would they put drugs in the coffee. They were amazing parents. They couldn't...They wouldn't...Oh, God...

 _His twitching and hyperactive imagination and all that other BS is because of his addiction._

His ADHD, it has to be his ADHD...A sob tore it's way through his throat, but he managed to stifle it.

 _He drinks what? Maybe 10 cups of coffee a day on average? So he's using constantly all the  
time._

OH, GOD! He does, doesn't he?! He drinks more than that too! What if this is true?! The Revealer is right...He is a worthless drugee.

 _At home, at work, at school. With his family, with his friends, with his darling  
_ _boyfriend Cutter Tucker. Those two are made for each other at this point._

No...they can't do this to Craig...They can't bring him back into this...He didn't know. He really didn't know...

Two pictures and a short video followed after. The first picture was of his family's coffee recipe. How...How did they get this...? Even Tweek wasn't allowed to see it...The recipe was locked up tighter than Tweek's college funds. But right their at the top of the ingredients list was three tablespoons meth. Tweek could believe it was fake if it wasn't his mother's handwriting. The next picture showed a strange man in a trench coat handing off a small package to Tweek's father and, finally, Tweek clicked on the video.

Soon, Tweek could hear his mother's voice come through his phone's speaker.

 _"Honey? Are you making today's first batch of coffee?"_

 _"Yes dear,"_ His father's voice soon joined and the camera was jostled as it was then angled through a window to show the Tweek Bros. kitchens. His father was there, measuring and organizing the ingredients.

 _"Remember, three table spoons meth to four table spoons ground coffee beans."_

His father laughed, _"I remember. I did, after all, write the recipe dear."_ The video shut off, but that was all it took. Twenty seconds to ruin him and his family name. His hands shook and his phone slipped through his fingers, landing with a soft ' _thud_ ' on the bed.

Tears welled up in his eyes and another, much louder, sob wrenched it's way free. Warm, strong arms encircled him. Tweek could see a few fading and fresh scars intermingling on the wrist that became exposed. He clenched his fists in Craig's jacket and pulled the other boy even closer, outright sobbing into his chest.

"Don't drink it. Don't drink their coffee anymore. I'll make you coffee everyday constantly if I have to." Tweek gave a watery laugh and buried his face farther in Craig's chest.

"I-I _*hic*_ love y-you."

"I love you too Tweekers."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

She smiled and stared up at the sky as rain began a light pitter patter. She leaned on the van and marked another name off her list, the rain hitting the notebook and making the ink run. She didn't seem to care though. Muffled sobbing was all she heard. Her latest blog had been harsh, cruel like all the others...but it had worked.

Next Victim: Damien Thorne


	13. Silver

**Chapter 13**  
 _ **Silver**_

It was too cold for Damien's opinions. He really disliked the cold. "Damy! Damy!" And, que, the least semi-annoying person in this whole Satan forsaken town.

"Hey Pip." Damien flicked his cigarette and gave a warm, rare smile towards the bubbly blonde that latched onto him like a vice. Said blonde pouted and glared pointedly at the Anti-Christ's cigarette.

"You shouldn't do that."

"Do what? Smoke? Why?"

"It's bad for you."

"Yeah, and?"

"Oh, never mind!" Pip huffed and crossed his dainty arms. Damien suppressed another smile. The Brit was too cute sometimes. _'Ding!'_

Damien's mood soured even more and he only pulled his pitch black phone out when he saw Pip do the same. No one would dare mess with Pip by posting about him, or else they would feel Damien's wrath tenfold.

 _Schizophrenia._

Oh no.

 _Such a horrendous mental disorder._  
 _For those of you who do not understand this, Schizophrenia is a type of mental disease involving a breakdown_

Damien winced. For some reason the word breakdown made him uncomfortable.

 _in the_ _relation between thought, emotion, and behavior, leading to faulty perception, inappropriate actions and feelings,  
withdrawal from reality and personal relationships into fantasy and delusion, and a sense of mental fragmentation._

That basically summed the disease up pretty well, props to the Revealer at least, but this didn't stop Damien from feeling even colder than before. He new where this was going. Who would have enough balls to do this to _HIM_ of all people?

 _Basically people see things that aren't there. Delusions, if you will._

A growl slipped past Damien's pale lips and Pip made a small squeaking noise beside him.

 _I bet you all are just_ dying _to hear about whom has this disorder._

Damien already knew and he had a feeling Pip did as well.

 _The answer is closer than you think.  
_ _Damien Thorne, that's who._

Damien hates South Park, he absolutely despises this small mountain town. How dare they? _How fucking dare they?!_

"D-Damien? Y-You're powers." Damien's rage had gotten to the point where his powers flared up and flames were licking at his shoulder. Pip had to back up, lest he get himself torched. "Please calm down." His voice sound muffled though, as a wave roared in the noirette's ears.

 _Damien Thorne is a raging schizophrenic who is, in my opinion, a danger to himself and those around him._

He clicked on the images. Doctor records. Tons and tons of records.

A rage-filled scream filled the empty street and Damien threw his phone with as much force as he could muster. It flew a good ten yards before losing altitude and hitting the ground, _hard_ , where it skidded for another few yards, falling to pieces as it went.

"Damien!" Pip tried to gain the raging demon's attention, but it was all in vain as his closest friend began going on a rampage. He hit and kicked things. Punched walls and almost set fires. There was only one thing that was spared from the mini-Armageddon.

Pip.

"Oh, Damien please come down!"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Revealer hid in the mouth of an alleyway as the son of Satan stormed bu, flames still kissing and caressing his flesh. A smaller boy was running after him. The Revealer popped her gum and smacked her lips as her chocolate colored eyes followed the blonde for a brief moment.

Next victim: Pip Pirrup.


	14. Black

**Chapter 14  
** _ **Black**_

Pip Pirrup heaved a tired sigh and readjusted his backpack on his shoulder before plastering a wide smile on his face. "Damien!" He called, waving like crazy to the taller boy and running to catch up with him. "There you are!"

He latched onto the "demon's" arm and grinned up at him. "How were your classes? I didn't get to see you since lunch!"

The dark-haired teen smiled a rare, nearly creepy smile, down at the blonde as they left the school together with the rest of the hoard of students, desperate for the weekend. He still hadn't let go of Damien's arm, keeping it tight in his grip the time it took them to walk from the school to Pip's foster home, where he was forced to let go by his foster mother screaming for him to get inside. "I'll see you soon, right Damy?"

The other boy gave him a smile and a quick nod before turning and continuing on his way. Pip sighed, sadly this time, and turned to go inside. His foster mother glared and yanked him inside so she could close the door. He barely registered his beat-up phone dinging on his way up to his almost closet-sized bedroom. Honestly, it was just big enough for a twin bed and a dresser with the minimal walking room, at least there was a window.

The Brit collapsed onto his bed and kicked the door closed behind him. It was a really tiring week and he just wanted to sleep, but curiosity got the better of him and he dug his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and squinting at the bright screen as he opened his newest notification.

Oh.

 _Prostiution. Hooking. Whoring._

Oh no.

 _Harlotry. Hustling. Fornication.  
_ _All terms for selling one's body._

This can't be bloody happening. There's no way….

 _Innocence. Purity. Chastity.  
_ _Integrity. Sincerity. Candor.  
_ _All terms people associate with a fellow student, Pip Pirrup._

No….No, he had never been entirely innocent, never pure. He wasn't given much of a choice though, but he knew what had happened and it was his burden alone.

 _Pip Pirrup, an innocent and usually forgotten foreign student. The last person anyone would expect to partake in debauchery._

That is true. He wasn't innocent, but he was good at pretending he was. He tried. Tried to be the good little foster child who never got into trouble. But the system scarred him at a young age and he had done things, still does things that he wasn't proud of.

 _This proves just how little we know about him._

Damien was his closest friend and he still barely knew the real Phillip Pirrup, and Pip didn't really want him to know the real him. If he did, then Pip would most likely lose him.

 _Pip Pirrup, our little British foreigner, is a prostitute._

He figured this is what the article would be about, it only made sense. That didn't make it any easier to read through. A choked sob slipped past pink lips and his blue eyes began watering.

 _You read that right. Pip is a prostitute._

Oh God….Everyone is going to know by Monday morning.

 _You know, the people who sell their bodies for a little bit of cash here and there.  
_ _Does he have no dignity?_

No, he supposes he doesn't anymore. That's what life had done to him. Stripped him bare and left him vulnerable.

 _Is life truly so bad a teenager needs to force themselves into this decision?_

It could be. It always could be.

 _Is it Pip's fault? Or society's fault?  
_ _Only God above knows._

God...God had abandoned his poor soul long ago, but that didn't stop him from praying every night. Praying for love and happiness and forgiveness for his sins.

He hoped the Almighty heard his pleas.

The article had a few images attached. Images of Pip in different vehicles with random men and some women. Others of him being paid through the car window and wearing non-Christian clothing that would make the Church shield their eyes from the horror of it all.

Pip sobbed himself to sleep, despite it being only 3:30, with him curled under his covers in a fetal position. He wished he wouldn't wake up.

'Tap', 'tap', 'tap'.

Pip wrinkled his nose and tried to pull the covers over his head, but the insistent tapping continued. Finally, after a good few minutes, he threw the covers off and stared at his window, surprise showing on his face almost immediately.

"Damien-" He breathed out and hurried to unlatch his window and push it open. It stuck for a moment, but with a good hard shove, it opened enough for Damien to slither in from the tree branch he was balanced on. "Damien."

His friend said not a word as he yanked the blonde Brit into his arms, just about squeezing the life from his lungs. Another sob slipped past his lips and people could only breathe out the name"Damien".

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

She pushed herself off the houses white-picket-fence after watching Damien Thorne struggle to climb the tree and knock for a nice long five minutes before the window was forced open and he slithered in. Well done.

One name remained on her list now.

Final victim: Stan Marsh.


End file.
